Just once
by I-write-hurt-not-comfort
Summary: Leo sighed, and glanced down at his trembling hands. This couldn't be happening to him. There was no way. Things like this didn't happen to people like him. / tw: prescription drug misuse


_**(a/ns: so i wrote this when i was kind of ... it's personal, basically. i thought writing might help and this abomination helped.**_

 _ **i would also like to publically thank nawnomschnuff for being the reason i am not high right now. i'm okay, i promise. writing really is a gift to humanity.**_

 _ **triggers: mentions/depictions of prescription drug abuse**_

 _ **reviews are appreciated, as usual)**_

* * *

 **Just Once**

 _It's not worth it._

 _It's not worth it,_ he repeated in his head, for the third time that minute.

Leo sighed, and glanced down at his trembling hands. This couldn't be happening to him. There was no way. Things like this didn't happen to people like him.

His heart was racing, uncontrollably. His hands were still shaking, uncontrollably. Like his sanity, and his rationality, everything just seemed to be slipping out of his control.

Subliminally, Leo glanced over at the bottle of pills. An orange bottle, resting directly in his line of view, labelled oh-so-temptingly "Codeine."

Vincent had given them to him, only a few days ago, when he'd taken him into his custody. But they were strictly for pain only; physical pain. The pain of the burns, and everything else which happened on that awful night. They worked, for a bit, albeit tolerance built up much faster than he'd anticipated.

Still, whenever he took them _for the pain_ , there remained an underlying sense of relaxation, and pleasure. Euphoria, you could say. It was stretching the truth, but when the burden of Elliot's death only seemed to intensify over time, it was noticeable. Worries slipping away-

Worries like those clouding his judgment right now.

You know what was particularly stupid? Leo couldn't even remember what'd gotten him so worked up to begin with. All he could recall was that one, tiny, insignificant, inchoate worry had escalated, and escalated, until eventually, every other gaze landed on the pills.

 _Just once wouldn't hurt._

It would, though. Of all people – of all the books he'd read – Leo should know that. He _did_ know that.

The temptation was damn-near irresistible.

How could this be happening to him?

He glanced at them again, a million thoughts racing through his mind. His heart beat faster, and faster, as if it would jump out his chest. And swallow the goddamn pills, hopefully.

In the back of his mind, all Leo could hear was Elliot's voice screaming at him. Each and every time he felt his hand itch towards the opiates – every time he _picked them up –_ Elliot screamed at him _"don't do it!"_

If only the voice was real.

If Elliot were there, he'd slap time. And take the pills. And flush them, right before his eyes. That was what kind of friend he was.

But what _if_ he took them? Would anything happen?

Probably not. But there was still that inkling of chance, one pressing at his conscience. This could turn into a habit. If it works now, what are the chances it'll work again? What if there's a next time?

He'd stop himself next time, it was only once-

What if it _wasn't_ only once, though?

What if next time turned into another next time, and then another? His tolerance would build. Habit forming.

Addiction.

That wouldn't happen to him.

Leo couldn't silence the raging thoughts, no matter what he did. He stared at the pills, and they stared back at him. Once would be fine, right?

Tears. He hadn't even noticed he was crying.

Anxiety overwhelmed him. How could he let it slip this far?

 _Just once. Never again._

Sauntering over to the pills, the cylindrical feeling of plastic in his palm made him feel sick, an unsettling feeling residing in the pit of his stomach.

 _Just once._

Leo tipped the receptacle, two pills falling into his palms. It was stupidly tempting.

 _Stop._

Selective ignorance. Whoever said that, Leo ignored them, as he placed the pills on the table. And he stared at them. Contemplating.

 _Just once._

He glanced at the water. That wouldn't do. Relief. He needed immediate relief-

 _Need –_ that's the vocabulary of an addict. That wasn't him. That _couldn't_ happen to him.

The desire for relief was stronger than him, though. Anxiously, Leo picked up one of the larger books from his collection. Inspecting the pills for only a few seconds, he knew exactly what to do. What he _shouldn't_ do.

Effortlessly, he crushed the pills.

 _Just once._

He'd never do this again. This was the only time he'd do this. Just once. Just once.

It wouldn't turn to addiction.

 _Just once,_ he thought once, _that's what every addict said. It's not worth it._

The urge was stronger than his willpower; the willpower being shredded and torn and totally obliterated by the crushed pills, tempting him.

Temptation, not addiction. He wasn't addicted. He'd only do it once.

The hesitation, and self-hate – Leo promptly shoved all of it to the back of his mind, and he sat on the chair in front of the table. Pulling a sleeve over his trembling wrists, he wiped the tears from his eyes, before neatly arranging the powder in a single line.

 _Just once._

With that thought in his mind, he hunched over the table, and snorted every last grain of the powder.

It took a few seconds for the drugs to hijack his senses.

Then came the euphoria.

Elliot would hate him. Leo exhaled in relief; he hated himself too.

He stared at the bottle of pills, again. It seemed less tempting now that he'd done it.

Ugly. Toxic. Controlling.

In the end, it really wasn't worth it. Even if it was just once.

* * *

 _Fin._


End file.
